


Worth Fighting For

by icarus_chained



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Aftermath, Betrayal, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Homecoming, Hugs, Kidnapping, Rescue, Reunions, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6789661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Zoom and Savage, in the quiet after everyone is reunited, a rather battered, fragile Caitlin finds a moment with Martin Stein. They've been through a lot. They could use some space to breathe and to try and put each other back together.</p><p>Spoilers up to 2x20 of The Flash. Only really 1x05 of Legends, I think, but I've seen up to 1x14.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Fighting For

**Author's Note:**

> IDFIC. Very clumsy idfic. I just want a) Caitlin to be saved, b) Martin (and Jax) to make it back to 2016 _safe_ , and c) someone to hug Caitlin and try to make things be okay. I'm not sure if this is OOC or not, I just really wanted it.

"... Are you all right, Caitlin?"

The voice was gentle, cautious, but Caitlin flinched violently anyway, the set of vials in her hands clattering noisily onto the examination table. Plastic, fortunately, not glass. She wasn't sure why she focused on that. They didn't break, anyway. Small mercies.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the Professor said, looking rumpled and genuinely contrite when she turned to find him standing in the doorway. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to startle you."

Caitlin tried to fix her face into some sort of smile, pushing her hands down by her sides to hide the shaking of them. She looked helplessly over at him, the grimace on her face probably as convincing a smile as you'd find on a doctor's plastic skeleton.

"It's okay," she said, determinedly pretending to be normal regardless. "It's okay, I'm sorry. I wasn't ... I thought everyone had left. Besides Dr Wells, I mean. Harry. Him and Jesse, they live here now. He doesn't tend to leave much. I thought everyone else had ... Um. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did you need something?"

Professor Stein looked at her for a second, a terrible, breathless sort of sympathy in his expression, and Caitlin curled her hands into fists to keep from crying. He shook his head, gentle and sad, and wandered carefully into the room. Standing off to one side, a little way away. Leaving a clear line between her and the door. Leaving her an escape if she wanted it. Caitlin didn't want the consideration. She did, and she desperately, desperately didn't. It made her eyes prickle. It had her press her lips together so they wouldn't tremble.

"I'm not hurt," he said quietly, a small, wry smile flickering across his face for a second. "For once, perhaps, but I'm not injured. I'm perfectly fine, Caitlin. I wanted ... Well. I wanted to see if you were all right? I saw you standing in here on your own. You didn't look very well. And, well. I'd heard ... that you've had a rather difficult time of it lately."

A rather difficult ... Oh god. Caitlin turned around, turned back to the examination table, pressing one hand up against her mouth. She sensed him stir, heard it as he moved behind her, and shook her head rapidly. Hunched her shoulders against the intrusion, curled down into herself away from him. He stopped. She knew if she turned to look at him that he'd have that expression on his face. That desperate, gentle sympathy. She couldn't bear it.

"I'm not ..." she started, the sound fragile and breakable and far too full of tears. She shook her head. She couldn't do this. "I can't, I just ... I need a little time. I just need a little time."

"That's all right," he said, very quickly. Nervous and flustered, all but stammering behind her. It was familiar. It was ... deeply, desperately familiar. "I don't ... That is, I don't want to distress you. Not in the least. I'm sorry, my dear. If you'd like me to leave ...?"

"No," she said. Instantly, more firmly. She made herself straighten up, lifted her shoulders and put some steel back into her spine. She couldn't do anything about her face, couldn't make it be friendlier or less desperate, but she managed a smaller and more honest sort of smile. "No, you don't have to. It's not ... I didn't mean that. I'm just. I'm not very good company right now. I don't ... think I'm doing very well."

She pressed her lips together, the tears springing to her eyes, and he moved to her at once. Brought his hands gently to her elbows, his expression grieved and deeply earnest. He'd been there for her on her wedding day. He'd been gone for such a long time, but he'd been there for her then. She remembered that. His expression said he wanted to be there for her now as well.

"No, you're not," he said softly. "I can see that. It's all right, you know. If ... If even half the things I've been hearing are true, you know you have the _right_ to be upset? Anyone would. You don't ... have to be strong. You are allowed to be upset."

Caitlin looked up at him, the tears spilling silently down across her cheeks. "What if I can't stop?" she asked. "What if that's all that's left?"

He stared at her, such an expression on his face that she couldn't breathe. "Oh, my dear," he said, so soft and full of grieving, and Caitlin buried herself abruptly in his arms. She flung herself into him, threw her arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest, and he caught his arms tight around her in return. He wrapped himself around her, tired and rumpled and warm, and pressed one hand into her hair. "Oh, Caitlin. I'm so sorry."

She didn't answer. She couldn't. Something ripped and tore inside of her, some fragile thing that she'd been using to keep herself together, and suddenly it all came tearing out of her. Everything. Ronnie's loss, torn ragged all over again, and _him_. Jay. Hunter. Everything he'd wanted, everything he'd done. Everything he'd said, everything she'd let herself believe, everything that he'd shown her so thoroughly wasn't true. Everything that she was so afraid still was. It poured out of her, ugly, wrenching sobs, and the Professor held her helplessly through it. The man who'd been there on her wedding day, who'd given her hand to Ronnie. The man who'd been there when Ronnie died, the man who'd felt it almost as deeply as she had. He held her up. He let her pour it out into his chest.

"I'm sorry," she said, thick, graceless mumbles. "I'm so sorry. I did it all wrong. I was so stupid and I did it all wrong. I just wanted something good again. I just wanted--"

"I know," he said, soft and crushed against her ear. "I know. He would have wanted it too. More than anything in the world, he would have wanted that for you. You deserved so much better than what you got, my dear. A thousand times. He would have wanted only happiness for you."

She lost it again at that. Felt something bend, felt something tear, and the Professor had to all but pick her up against the force of her tears. She felt him fumble sideways, felt him find something to lean against and hold onto, and then he pulled her in beside him. Tucked her in against his chest and stroked his hand helplessly through her hair. 

"It wasn't you," he went on, stumbling and careful and sad. "You can't think that it was you, that it was your fault. You didn't ask for it. This ... person, this man, you didn't ask for what he did. He just wanted to use you. He saw something that he wanted and he tried to make it his. That's not your fault. Nothing in that is your fault."

"I _believed_ him," she whispered viciously. "I thought he was a hero, I believed him for so long. While he was hurting people, all that time. And then we found out, we realised, and he ... he took, and ... He said I was a monster, that I should be like him, and I couldn't ... He hurt all those people and I couldn't ..."

The Professor pulled her close, crushed her in against him. "You are _not_ a monster," he said savagely, whispered it fierce and furiously. "You are anything else in the world before that. I know ... Caitlin. I know what it's like to be helpless. To watch someone use you, to see them hurt people and be unable to ... But it's not you. That's not you, you're not the monster. I know you, my dear. I know how Ronnie loved you, I know why. I know exactly what it was he saw in you. And for myself, for my own part, I know you too. You are a beautiful, courageous, compassionate young woman. You helped save me, so many times. You forgave me for living when your husband died. You fought to save my life, to find me someone good and decent to rely on in place of the person we had both lost. You have done nothing, in all the time I've known you, except try to help those around you. You are one of the bravest, most generous, most selfless people I have ever met, and I have met some truly wonderful people. You are not a monster. You're hurt, you're in pain, but you could never be that. There is more good in you than half the world."

And he didn't know, Caitlin thought. He didn't know about Killer Frost, didn't know about that other world, not beyond the basics they'd been able to tell him. He didn't know about Frost or Reverb, didn't know how ... how much a monster someone like her could be. He'd seen a lot, their Professor, he'd fought his way through time and space, but he hadn't seen that. He hadn't seen a woman with her face try to kill her without a qualm. 

But he'd seen ... he'd seen things that Jay hadn't. He'd seen Ronnie, he'd seen what Ronnie had felt about her. He'd seen her on her wedding day. He'd seen her _happy_ , he'd seen her grieving, he'd seen so many things. There was a part of her in him that wasn't in anyone else anymore. A part of her that ... that sometimes she thought was gone, sometimes she thought had been torn away, but he had it still. He remembered it, and when he looked at her he saw it still. The look on his face when he'd come in here. The way he said those things, soft and angry and utterly, perfectly sure. No one else had that anymore. The rest of them had seen their other selves too many times. But the Professor had been away, he'd been somewhere else, and he remembered ... he remembered things Caitlin couldn't anymore.

"... I don't want to be her," she whispered tiredly, leaning in against his chest. "I don't want to be like him. I just ... He saw something in me. He picked me. I'm just afraid of what that means. I've been angry for a long time. I loved him, and then I wanted to hurt him so badly."

"... I don't think you can be blamed for that," he said, squeezing her shoulder gently, something stiff and rather angry in his voice. "After all that he did to you, I don't think you can be blamed. In point of fact, I now know several people who would have been more than happy to lend you a mace for the purposes. Or a knife, or a gun. Your choices of weapons, really."

She coughed a bit at that, a little splutter of a laugh. Of course. He'd arrived back with _Heatwave_ , she remembered that. And Kendra, not to mention Sara Lance. He knew ... quite a few deadly people now. Had stepped defensively in front of them, too, when Barry hadn't been certain yet what was going on. Maybe he wouldn't mind the odd dangerous impulse from her. Maybe he wouldn't judge her too harshly even if ... even if he knew the ugly things inside of her these days.

She felt the tears bubble up again. Just prickles, now, not the torrents of before, but she felt them anyway. She rubbed her cheek against his chest, the soft roughness of a now rather distressed sweater. He rubbed her shoulders soothingly. 

"I wish he hadn't died," she said, soft and flat and knowing he'd know who she meant. "Or that I'd ... that I'd gone with him. I just wanted something like that again. I thought Jay could give it to me. I thought ..."

"I know," he said, softly and inexpressibly tired. Something in his voice, a grief she knew so very well. "I know, my dear. I do. But you ... There is more to life than just misfortune. I believe that. He wouldn't have wanted you to go with him. He wouldn't have wanted either of us to. He was ... Ronald was like that. He would have wanted you to find a second happiness. And I know ... I know that hasn't gone so very well so far. I know that. But there is someone out there for you, if you still want them. There's a ... a Clarissa, a Jefferson Jackson out there somewhere. It's not all Henry Hewitts and Valentina Vostoks. There will be someone good and decent and worthy of Ronald's legacy. The things he loved inside you are still there. That compassion, that courage and that strength. The whole world surely can't be blind to that. There will be someone. There will be a turn in your fortune. God knows you deserve it so much more than I."

Caitlin leaned away at that. She pulled herself back so she could look at him, swipe her hands across her face and offer him something like a smile. He looked down at her, his hands once again at her elbows, his eyes so soft and earnest and true. Believing what he said. Believing in _her_. Caitlin managed to smile at him.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know, I think you deserve good things too. I think you deserve ... sometimes better than what you get. Who's, ah. Who's Valentina Vostok?"

He blinked, startled, and then grimaced, a complicated expression flitting across his face. "She was," he started uneasily, and sighed. "She was a scientist. A very intelligent, beautiful woman. And a very evil one. She wanted Firestorm. She killed any number of innocents to get it. When she realised what I was, she ... managed to merge with me. For a while. She destroyed herself shortly after. If not for Jefferson, she probably would have destroyed me too."

Caitlin stared at him. She felt ... she thought ... 

"... She saw something she wanted in you, and she tried to make it hers," she said distantly. Echoing what he'd said earlier. The Professor looked down at her, a tired and perfect understanding in his face. "You ... We ... Do you ever think that maybe ... that maybe we've already had all the happiness we're going to get? That we had it already, and it's gone, and now ..."

" _No_ ," he said, firmly and quietly, squeezing her elbows gently. He waited until she looked back at him, waited until he was holding her eyes with his, and rubbed her arms gently. "I don't think that. I couldn't. Not when I lost Ronald, and not when I was dying, and not when Valentina took me. Not for long. You all fought for me, you see. From the beginning. You and Cisco and Barry, Clarissa, Jefferson. Every time, someone fought for me. That's how I know that not everything has been lost. And you, my dear, you have people who will fight for you too. Your friends. You have people who love you, even if not the way Ronald did, and you have people who will fight for you, and you have people who want you to be happy. Who want to give that to you, any way that they can. It's not lost. We're not abandoned. Not yet, not while we still have one thing worth fighting for, and one person willing to fight for us in turn."

He paused for a moment, paused to track the fresh tears slipping silently down her face, and reached up to brush them gently away. Hesitantly, carefully. A warm, familiar figure, brushing gently at her tears.

"We're not lost yet, my dear. He wouldn't want you to be unhappy. For that matter, neither do I. You've fought for me so many times. I am ... I'm very bad at being there for those I love, but please know that I would fight for you in turn. Any way I could. Not only for Ronald, not just for his memory. You are someone worth fighting for, Caitlin Snow. You are a compassionate, courageous young woman, and you are most certainly someone worth fighting for."

She couldn't see him. The tears blurred her eyes completely, she couldn't see his face. She didn't need to. She could hear how softly, how earnestly he meant it. It ... it didn't feel like something tearing in her chest, like something being ripped out. It felt like something being put back instead, being rebuilt gently inside her. A part of her she'd thought was lost, a part she'd thought no one remembered anymore.

She leaned up and hugged him gently around the neck. A thank you, this time, not a desperate, grieving cling. She was crying still, but it felt gentler now, a cleaner thing, and she hugged him with a different, quieter sort of feeling. He hugged her easily in return. He patted her gently on the back.

"I've missed you," she said softly. "I know you were doing important things. Saving history, saving the future. And maybe I'm glad you weren't here, that you didn't see ... a lot of things. But I ... I did miss you, Professor. And not just for Ronnie either."

He breathed out, a quiet, rueful sort of sound. "You know," he said, "every so often I am very pointedly reminded of how badly I sometimes juggle my priorities. I'm sorry, my dear. I doubt I've been doing anything quite so important as you imagine. But I ... I promise I shall endeavour to let you know in good time the next time I have to leave. Believe me, Clarissa and I have already had that conversation. At, ah. At some length. I promise I shall try to ... be better at being there in future. For everyone worth fighting for."

Caitlin breathed too. She took a step back, wiping tear tracks off her face. "You don't have to do that," she said. Taking a breath, settling back inside herself. Smiling quietly at him. "You don't owe me anything. We all have a lot of people to think about."

He shook his head, rumpled and rueful and wry. "You saved my life several times," he pointed out. "I rather think that is worth something. I ... I'm not promising that I shall never leave, my dear, because I probably will. I'm not very good at staying, I think we've all realised that. But I ... I mean that, if you should need me for anything at all, and if I can still be reached, you shouldn't hesitate. There are things, people, that I really should prioritise more. I believe you to be one of them. You deserve to be happy, my dear. If I can ever help with that, please promise me that you'll remember to ask?"

Caitlin bit her lip. "I will," she said, her smile gone a touch lopsided. "I'll remember ... I'll try to remember a lot of things. Thank you."

He looked away, took off his glasses and reached up to scrub a little at his own eyes. He put them back on, looked over at her wryly. "You're welcome," he said. "I don't think I've done very much at all, but ... you're welcome, my dear. Always."

Caitlin looked at him. "Have you, ah. Have you talked to Cisco yet?" she asked, only slightly out of the blue. The Professor blinked a bit, but followed gamely.

"Not really," he said. "I mean, altogether with the rest of you, yes, but not ... privately, so to speak. Why?"

Caitlin just shook her head. "Nothing," she said. Nothing that was hers to tell. But: "It's just, if you have a few minutes? I think he's missed you too."

Missed having someone who believed, someone who had never seen Reverb or Killer Frost, someone who had been through a lot but hadn't ... hadn't lost all hope because of it. Someone who could still look at them and see ... something happy, and good, and worth fighting for. Someone whose demons were different from theirs now. Someone who'd fought a different battle and could look at them and not see only theirs. Someone who loved them, and could hug them, and who believed they were worth fighting for. Not for Ronnie's sake but for their own.

Yes, she thought. Cisco could use that right now. All of them could, really, but maybe Cisco most of all. His other face had been evil too.

"... All right," Professor Stein said quietly. Looking at her, seeing probably a lot of that in her expression. He nodded gently, half to her and half to himself as well. "I'll try to find him, then. I'll, ah. I'll see if he could use a friend as well."

Caitlin caught his hands. Resisting the urge to hug him, resisting the urge to cry all over again. Enough of that, for heaven's sake. Enough of that, please. But she wanted to say this anyway.

"Thank you," she said, squeezing his hands so he'd know how much she meant it. "Professor. _Thank you_."

Because from him, she thought, from him it was a sympathy she could bear.


End file.
